


A damsel in distress

by BlueHedgehog, Verdin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Iggy learning about himself, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pirates, at least a bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:14:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueHedgehog/pseuds/BlueHedgehog, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verdin/pseuds/Verdin
Summary: "Yo-ho, yo-ho, a pirate's life for me."Ignis does know this song, but after an unfortunate meeting with a real privateer, he'll never hum it under his breath again when preparing seafood. Captain Izunia takes him on a trip to dark places no living soul should have to see.





	1. Chapter 1

Ignis never complained, no matter how much he disliked something the boys did. Gentle admonitions, yes, a raised eyebrow, but never an actual complaint.

      “But I wanna do it!" Prompto's voice trembled in disappointment.

      “And that is why you won't. Luna would never lose her composure like that, and you do with every breath you take."

      He squinted his eyes and felt utterly ridculous. Not only being without his glasses, but being in this lacey dream of a dress. Pearly white was not his color, and he was pretty sure neither a bodice nor voluminous skirt were, too.

      “What a pretty princess.“ Gladio leaned back in the chair and had a hard time stifling his laugh. “You sure this is gonna work? You're not exactly her size.“  
      “It is the only option. We can't involve a stranger in this.“

      A few steps towards the mirror, gazing through the haze of short-sightedness. The dress was surely tasteful, in a way. He selected it, and found his taste to be impeccable as always, even though it surely was never meant to be on him. He felt weirdly naked in the the shoulderless gown and tried to move as graciously as he imagined Lady Lunafreya would do.

     Gladio burst out laughing. “Did you just twirl?”

      Ignis froze. “I will do what is needed to guarantee the success of the mission. For the Lady, and for the Prince.”

      A few moments of uncomfortable silence, before Prompto jumped up from his place on the floor, arranging the delicate fabric of the skirt's upper layers. “This is just the perfect outfit for a luxurious cruise! Let me help you with the wig and...” he grinned, all beaming eyes and freckles, “...get you on that boat before Noct comes back and falls in love all over again!”

      He slicked back his friend's pale hair with his hand. “C'mon. It will be grand. And for this very special occasion, I won't even snap a picture. But now smile for me, will you?”

      Ignis did not manage a smile, only a silent sigh. It sounded like a reasonable plan when they came up with it, but now he was not so sure.

 

      The departure from port was slow, dignified. Ignis – no, the Kannagi, in an fashionable twist of a traditional outfit, her face demurely covered by a veil - was standing on deck, waving regally to the small crowd of spectators that had gathered in these early hours of the morning. The sun was just rising, casting tiny diamonds on the tide going out. If an artist felt inspired to paint this impromptu communion with the sea this little journey was supposed to be, it would be all light airy pastels, applied with easy brushwork. A little too kitschy for his taste.

 

      He could still see the shapes of the boys among the crowd. Prompto was waving back frantically, Gladiolus watching in silence, arms crossed in front of his chest. Soon they'd go and find themselves some unhealthy breakfast, while he was here with a hand of close-lipped sailors, giving the real Lunafreya an alibi to be with her future husband.

      He didn't begrudge them their free time. The boys needed a breather, and Noct something to warm his heart and improve his ever sinking morale. A few days in Altissia might work wonders, and he'd have some time for himself. Without anyone to care for. For a moment he mused if the ship's cook would let him take his place, but that was certainly not befitting.

      Only the city's towers told of her existence now. The hoisted sails caught a good wind, and Ignis filled his lungs with salty air until they felt about to burst.

      Breathing out.

      Releasing.

      Maybe this was a good time to reorganize his notebook.

 

Captain Ardyn Izunia was in one of those dark moods again, and had been for days.

      The crew loathed it when those foul winds tousled the captain’s hair. He was moody and precarious on the best of days, but the pay aboard the Siren was absurdly high, and working under Niflheim's most successful privateer had other benefits when returning to the home port. Being an adventurer and a patriot was a mix few beautiful faces and few sentries were immune to, and the scars the service under this captain left on their skin and in their hearts were more than made up with the amenities waiting for them. At least, that was what the crewmen told themselves.

      Still, they had been drawing lots on who was going into his quarters to tell him about the sails on the horizon, the Accordian flag dancing proudly above them.

      “Tell your mother I loved her very much.” The sailor who lost this draw was a young lad, barely a stubble on his chin, with red curls in a ponytail and a face full of freckles, and earned himself a clip on the ear from the boatswain for his big mouth. If it wasn't for the circumstances, that monster of a man would have knocked him out in a heartbeat, but he seemed to have his share of punishment already.

      “Get yo' ass to de captain, or else!”

      “I'm going, I'm going.” His hands raised, the redhead turned on his heel. This was no big thing. Just a man sized moray eel most of them considered cursed. He dearly hoped he hadn't been drinking.

      He knocked on the wooden door to the captain's quarters. Once. Twice. Three times, and still no reaction. This did not bode well. A look over his shoulder just to see his mates watching him in silent horror like a man going to the gallows. He tried a brave smile which turned out a grimace and slowly opened the door.

      Inside was darkness. The candles had burned down, leaving only a little sunlight that shyly peeked through the ornaments in the shutters. He had only been in here once, months ago, when he first set foot on this ship, and hardly believed the splendor collected here. What little light there was, it got caught on gilded scrimshaw here, gaudy glassware there, dancing through crystals and precious stones, turning into rainbows. The more his eyes got used to the gloom in here, the more treasures emerged from the shadows. The carpets underneath his bare feet were silky and soft like the lush meadows of his childhood.

      There were eyes in here, too many eyes, on paintings and statues and faces between slender tendrils carved on pieces of furniture. None of those he saw looked too serene, and his hope sank even further.

      Astern, before the wall of diamond-pane windows, a desk was placed. Some dark and strangely oily wood, large enough to be the casket of a giant, strewn with delicate carvings of... yes, those were naked ladies. He knew a thing or two about those. For an instant, he grinned, but then his eyes moved up to the wine-red hair that curled over papers and quills like seaweed over a stiff.

      The captain was still sitting there, his head hidden in the crook of his arm. The smell of port wine and rum now interfered with the incense he smelled when entering the room, drowning out the pleasant notes of frankincense and sandalwood with the deep sweet red of potent drink. There, on the floor, empty bottles, confirming his fear.

      As he tiptoed closer, a prayer under his breath, he stepped onto a heap of cloth, grey and from a fine weave, silver buttons glinting as they moved. A few steps further, white and silken, a thing that might be the captain's shirt. Just great. Maybe he was in luck and the captain still was halfway decent.

      He took position to his left side, half hidden behind the desk. Izunia wouldn't be able to reach him here, would he? He could duck behind the wood when he moved, and then be out and about in a heartbeat.

      “Sir?” he whispered. “Sir?”

      The sitting man didn't move. He sighed silently and picked up a quill, stroking carefully the bare arm under the hair. “Sir? Please?”

      It took a while, but then a groan that spoke of all the world's misery escaped from somewhere deep within the captain. “Go.”

      “Sir? I pray...”

      “Go. Away.” It was more a snarl than actual words.

      “Sir, there's an Accordian merchant, just ripe for the picking!”

      He saw the limp shoulders widen, life returning into the body. The captain sat up, his eyes bloodshot, wiping away black ink from his lips, leaving no stains. “And why did you not say so earlier? You know what to do, man!”

      The ginger ran, bellowing orders way above his station, as Captain Ardyn Izunia, humble privateer in service of his Majesty Emperor Aldercapt, stretched luxuriously in his chair. This day would turn out more amusing then the last ones.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Wake up, for heavens' sake, wake up!” Copper and gunpowder and a hand clamped over his mouth to keep him from screaming. Thunder shaking the world, the sick sound of wood splintering.

      “Shit.” The sailor's curse was heartfelt. “Listen, sweetheart, you have to hide. Pray to the Six, maybe they show mercy.” He dragged Ignis upright, out of the bed in the captain's cabin they had left to their honorable guest.

      “What...?”

      “Bloody pirates, that's what! They can't find you! Down to the cargo hold, and keep your head down!” Ignis was pushed outside, and the sailor ran past him back on deck, saber in hand. He stood there for a moment, blinked unwilling and pinched the bridge of his nose. If he had to fight here and in a nightgown, he would at least choose the battleground.

 

      Captain Izunia had decided to take a little stroll aboard the merchant vessel now that the first fighting was done and he managed to get dressed to a satisfactory degree. For him, that could take a while. Layers over layers of fabrics liberated during the years, not necessarily matching each other, but each one too precious and pretty not to show it. Carefully stepping through the mess, unwilling to get blood on his gray justacorps, he inspected the losses, and found them to his liking. Severe on the side of the merchant, a deep scratch here and there on his own.

      Yet something here felt wrong. The sailors that spilled their guts on these planks did not look like those a privateer usually met, even if it was only for a short while. They were old and hardened and stringy like jerky, and he saw more then once a faded tattoo with some military or plainly nationalistic motive.

      “Tenebrae. Hmm.” he wondered, elongating the syllables like the seagull over there did with a now useless intestine. Those were not their colors on the flag on their mast, not those of an independent merchant. A wave of his hand, and his crew went ahead to search the rest of the ship. They probably had some cargo aboard that was, if not precious, at least quite interesting.

 

This galley was not one Ignis knew, but even on sea kitchens seemed to follow a kind of internal logic, so it didn't take too long not only to find the knives, but to prepare some little surprises. Visitors always loved those, didn't they?

 

It was a scream of pure agony that alerted the captain. He was unwilling to accelerate his step, but his people surely were.

      Ignis knew pretty well where that howl was coming. The pirate in front of him had dropped his saber, deperately clawing at his clothes, at his skin, trying to escape the heat of the sizzling oil he was ambushed with when entering the galley. The second guy was luckier, but not for long. The lady in her white gown jumped at him, knocking him over, kneeling on top of him for a moment. He thought of a quip that he had made up ages ago for exactly a situation like this – though the girl in this scenario had more curves and less fabric on her -, but quickly forgot about this when a skewer through his shoulder nailed him to the planks. Her cold green eyes were the last thing he saw when a knife cut through his throat. Then there was only nothing.

      Ignis harkened over the wailing. The pirates would have heard this, and they were savvy enough not to raise a ruckus now to give him an idea where they were coming from. His nimble hands snatched what he could comfortably carry, and he hurried deeper into the ship's innards.

 

      Captain Izunia arrived when the scream had died down to a whimper. That one over there was gone, but this one might be salvageable. He wrinkled his nose over the smell of blood and fried pig rising from the scene and turned the man over. “You weren't much of a looker before, were you?” The heat had almost evaporated the flesh, leaving barely more than a skull covered in crispy skin and blisters. The eyes were sightless, thoroughly cooked. Izunia refrained from poking at one of them. Last time he did that, it burst into his hand, ruining a shirt he really liked.

      He searched his deep pockets for one of those small glass vials that were so useful in his trade. Ah, here. A tiny feather floated in it, red and golden like a caught flame, and he broke the glass over the whimpering remains, not even waiting for the magic to take effect. He unthinkingly patted the burnt shoulder before rising, eliciting a louder wail from his man.

      A short gaze into the galley showed that whoever did this had more than one pot of oil cooking on the stove. Contemplating, he climbed over the body in his way and took them from the heat. Open drawers and tipped out boxes indicated that somebody had searched this kitchen thoroughly and was in a hurry doing so. That ruled out the cook. Interesting.

 

Now that Ignis was fleeing like an hunted fox, the schooner seemed tiny. Maybe using the galley as base wasn't the brightest idea, for it was below deck and even beyond the crew's quarters, and the only way he certainly would not run into the pirates unprepared was down to the cargo hold, the place he so dearly had wanted to avoid. Painfully he realized that he was not used to fighting alone anymore. Nobody had his back here.

      Maybe hiding indeed was the wiser option for the moment. He was not willing to give up so easily.

      The hold was a long room with a low ceiling, barely letting him stand upright. Crates and barrels, tied down with ropes, barely discernible in the dim light that ventured down the steep stairway. Hiding behind or even in one of the crates would leave him no room for escape, but under the open stairs, pressed to the hull? He might be able to slip through the gap when his persecutors were down here, opening up a whole new world of possibilities.

      He pressed against the planks, barely daring to breathe. His evaluation was right. Of course it was. Only too soon silent figures threw their shadows through the opening in the ceiling. For a split second he had the urge to fight, to cut their sinews as they came down, but he held back. Waiting patiently.

 

      His plan would have been of no use. The first figure jumped, and so did a second and a third. Elegant predators landing without a sound, prowling between the freight. Ignis was used to strange creatures, but these people felt utterly wrong in a way he never experienced. He felt his heart beat to his throat.

      There! An opening! All of them were busy, and if he only was fast enough...

      He slid through the gap between the stairs as snakelike as he managed, leaving behind bits of skin and fabric. Up the steps in a hurry, almost there, there... tripping. Falling. He had the presence of mind to catch his fall with his hands instead of hitting the floor face first and was ready to have a running start, when sudden, sharp pain shot through his right hand.

      A boot, a calf-high thing made of black leather, richly decorated with silver buckles, was pressing down hard on the delicate bones.

      “What an unfortunate first meeting, don't you think?” Through teary eyes Ignis looked up to the figure of a man, a bit taller them even Gladiolus, wild wine-colored hair, and a jumble of different weaves and fabrics under a gray justacorps. He found his green eyes caught in the stranger's golden ones, way too bright and glowing in this half-light below deck.

      The pressure on his hand increased. That bloody pirate must had seen the knife in his left and wanted to make sure he was too busy with pain to do anything. He yelped helplessly as he felt his bones breaking.

 

      Through a fog of tears and throes, he felt himself lifted up at the lacy collar of the rest of his gown, as defenseless as a kitten. For one long breath, he hung in the air, his brilliant mind empty with pain, when suddenly the back of the captain's gloved hand hit him square in the face and sent him flying. His head smashed hard against the lower deck's wall, new pain flooding his skull. Tiny stars bloomed in his vision, a sick feeling deep in his stomach. Then the world went away.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He woke with a headache and the indistinct feeling that things really hit the fan this time. A feeling of tightness and tension around his chest that was different from the usual stress-induced stiffness. Ignis tried to move carefully, before even opening his eyes, only to decide that it was not a problem in this muscles this time, but the rope that secured him to what might very well be a chair.

      Slowly he opened his eyes. The world would probably stop spinning, sooner or later.

      Room. Yes, a room. Large and lit by some candles. A desk, someone sitting behind it. Patterns over patterns and wine-red hair. Writing something, was he?

      Memories came back slowly, and as they came, he struggled to find a matching quote, settling for the words of a dead sailor.

      “Shit.” he said.

 

Ardyn laid aside his quill. His new, strange little treasure was awake. What a pleasant diversion.

      “There, there.” he cooed soothingly and leaned his chin on his ink-stained hand. “Such bad words from the Kannagi. At least I gather this is what you are supposed to be, is it not? More than one of your men did curse you with his dying words, just in case you care.” He slowly got up, strolling around the desk, circling the chair with his prisoner until finally standing in front of him.  
“Let us see.” He reached for the bruised face with both hands, turned it tenderly, letting the tips of his fingers explore the delicate bone structure, these pretty green eyes, swollen with harm and hurt.

      Ignis presses his lips together at first, suffering through the affections of these rough fingertips, but when a thumb dreamily pressed into the inner corner of his left eye, making him see the patterns of his own veins through the closed lid, he did the only thing that came into his mind and spit at his captor.

      The spittle landed on the captain's cheek and got him out of his trance. He wiped it away with pointy fingers and stood straight for a few moments, cleaning his hand on the rests of Ignis' white dress. In the end he decided to sit down on the desk in front of the bound man.

      “May I presume you are not the Kannagi?” he asked with a little smile, the hands now folded in his lap, all composure and good manners.

      The prisoner bit his lip, and Ardyn nodded thoughtfully. “No, you are not, but you are not willing to tell me for any price, for this is none of my business. Also I`m a wretched soul and will suffer for what I'm doing. This is about what you want to tell me now, is it?”

      He yawned when his captive only stared at him, trying everything to fake indifference instead of showing fear. “My, you're truly the first one to tell me that. Let me try something else this time, instead of outright torturing you until you tell me the truth. I'll give you a few hours to think about your situation. If you then still think resistance is your best option, we'll start with pulling out your nails, then your teeth. Both traditional things that are rather unpleasant, but won't kill you in the long run. Then I might be bored and decide whatever you have to tell won't be worth my time, so I might as well get, well, creative.” He slid from the table, getting close to Ignis' face. “Promise me to think about it, mh? You seem like a clever boy.”  
A kiss was planted on the bruised cheek, and he was left alone. He heard the captain's cheerful humming long after the door closed.

 

Ignis kept the unspoken promise and thought long and hard, even when most of those thoughts were curses. Caught between a rock and a hard place this time, and no matter what he decided, getting out of this alive was not something he could hope for.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Time passed.

His body decided to have so very mistimed desires like _food_ and _chamber pot_ , but nobody came. Captain Izunia had meant what he said with “a few hours”.

More practical considerations would have been _knife_ and, if he was quite honest, _trousers_ , once the first one had been covered.

He heard the door behind him open. Slow steps of somebody in shoes or boots, taking position behind him. Waiting for a little bit, just to see if he would be ready to open his mouth.

Ignis kept quiet for the moment. Unlikely that this was Izunia, and from his current position, he could not make a decent assessment of the situation.

“So you're the treasure he found?” A woman's voice, one that was used to shouting at men and getting her orders through. “Let me take a look. Whatever you did, you did something right. He's in a scarily good mood. Even left your ship to the survivors. Even left survivors. That's a thing for once in a blue moon.”

She seemed pretty young, as far as he could see. Tall, grey-haired, the blue coat of an officer of the Royal Navy, the golden insignia removed. Dishonored. She walked around him, hands on her hips, her saber in its scabbard.

“Not sure if you're really the type for lace, mate.”

A different creature from the ship's captain, that much was clear already.

"It certainly was not my first choice," Ignis replied.

“Wouldn't be caught dead in it myself.” She chuckled. “And what by the Six was that thing? Private joyride to get your freak on?” The look on his face told her quite clearly that this was not the reason. “A red herring, then? But for what?”

"I'm afraid I'm not one to kiss and tell." It seemed like a conversational tone was the best option. Unless, of course, he was severely misjudging her character. It had happened before.

“You could be one to kiss and tell a lie.” The woman grinned and winked at him, and he felt even more naked under her appreciating gaze. “As far as I know him, the Cap prefers an interesting tale to a boring truth. Just saying that in a absolutely general way.” She leaned against the desk, like the pirate had before her.

"He does seem quite fond of grand gestures."

“That's mildly put. And I dunno what you two talked about, but chances are he was hamming it up. No idea why they put him on a ship instead of a stage.”

"Ah, the usual threats of bodily harm. The matinee was rather impressive, nonetheless I would prefer to not be here for the evening performance."

“Only threats? Looks like the fat cat really likes you.” She kicked against his shin, and it felt almost affectionate. “And how do you intend to get out? Or would that spoil the surprise?”

Ignis lifted both eyesbrows, and the corner of his mouth that wasn't pushing against a swollen cheek. "I was planning on charming my way out, but it seems the lace isn't helping."

“Guess I could get you some leather if you ask nicely.” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Or maybe a collar? He seems to dig those.”

"Very kind. Although there _is_ also the matter of getting dressed with my hands bound, of course."

“Oh, I can help you with that”, she said and remained seated. Her help would be of a more hands-on approach. “Anything else you need?”

This advance was going to be more dangerous, but Ignis did not have much to lose. "Then," he said, "there is also the possibility of staging your own play."

“Ha! And here I am, wondering if my approach was too direct for your liking!” She sniffed carefully at one of the open bottles on the desk and put it aside again. “Is that a way to introduce yourself to a lady? Asking for mutiny before even asking for a name?”

"Of course. Where are my manners." He still had all his limbs, and outrage at the idea was something else, too. "Sinon Vastro, at your service. With whom do I have the honour?"

She gave a little bow, on her lips a little mocking smile. “Aranea Highwind, commander of Timesgoneby and Fuckall. Here, they call me Scaly Arry.“

Were the situation any different, Ignis might even have enjoyed this conversation immensely. "And which one do you prefer?"

"Sinon, if you please. No need for formalities."

“Aye. Sinon it is, then. So, what madness made you think that asking about mutiny before everything else was a good idea?“ Her boot was on the seat of his chair now, tilting it so it only balanced on its two hind legs, and him with it.

"I never said anything about mutiny, but if that is what you choose to take away from our conversation, it must have crossed your mind before." The question was if she would drop him now.

A little more...  
And a little more...  
Still she kept him in balance, but it was getting to dangerous levels of incline.  
"And how did you _intend_ me to understand this thing about 'my own play', eh?"

"Well, I suppose you are putting on a fairly good show right now." Ignis hoped for the best - and mentally braced for impact.

And the impact came, only not the way he expected. The chair was suddenly solidly on the ground again, and her boots on resting on his legs.

“Oh, am I? Haven't even started yet.” Now she found a bottle to her liking and took a swig. “So little Sinon would like to have some clothes, which I of course will give him out of the goodness of my heart. Anything else you'd like?”

So that was the direction this was going.  
Workable.  
"I like what I see."

“Bloody hells, mate, you'd be stupid not to. That's not what I meant, and you know it. Food? Booze? A little something to get you going?”

"Food would indeed be a good start."

“I'll see what I can do.”

He was left alone again, not without her pressing a little smack on his cheek. Again. It seemed to be a bit habit among the crew, but rather her than the captain.

 

When she returned, she brought a heap of stuff, topmost a pot with a wooden spoon, beneath that a bundle of fabric and a pair of boots.

“See? Found some things. You'll probably want me to untie you now, and I will do so. One hand, at least. You can do the rest yourself, and just in case you get any ideas...”

She laid the things down on the desk, untying the rope around his right hand – no use in cutting perfectly good rope – and sat down on the workplate herself, watching him, a pistol drawn and aimed.

“Just try not to get any, okay? I feel no need to clean the Cap's carpet.”

Silently Ignis sighed. Of course. Everything else would have been too easy.

 

The pot contained soup, lukewarm, so he wouldn't throw it in her face, but it was rich and meaty and salty, and him being actually hungry also helped improving the taste. She handed him one of the open bottles, a by now well aired red wine, and watched him eat, her own eyes hungry.

“You like it?”

“Well, it could use a little more...”

“Put the damn pot away, and get out of those rags. Didn't bring you that stuff for nothing.”

He was not sure if it was the muzzle of the pistol or the tone of her voice that made him move without the usual stern gaze.

“Can you dance?”

“Pardon me? Now is probably not the time...?”

“Shiva's tits, Sinon, I want you to shake that little booty of yours while you take off that frock. Have you never been with anyone _fun_?”

His slightly irritated face was answer enough.

“C'mon, try it. Move a little while you peel it off. Ain't that hard. Close your eyes and pretend I'm not here.”

He was not good enough at pretending to ignore a weapon pointing at him, but he closed his eyes and tried his best to imitate a young lady dancing in one of the bars Gladio sometimes dragged him into. Slowly he let his hands wander over his body, girating, stretching, trying to undo layers of fabric he had needed the help of others to get into, and he felt ridicolous and... not too bad, actually. Maybe part of it was that this was the first time since days he could move freely, maybe it was the wine hitting his half-empty stomach, but this was not really that bad...

“Keep the corset”, he heard her voice, and only now realized how much of his clothing was gone by now. Only the tattered rest of the underdress, barely covering anything, and the white corset above remained, giving his slender figure a bit more curves.

Aranea seemed equally delighted and amused, a slight blush and red lips from the wine.

“Can I get dressed now?” He was slightly irritated that she looked like she was enjoying herself, and she grinned.

“You may put on the boots. Should be your size. Sit down on the chair and do it like a lady.”

The boots were made of brown leather and indeed about his size, reaching up to his knees, and she watched him, opening up the stained shirt she wore below her uniform coat.

“Arms behind your back, Mister Vastro. Keep them there until I say otherwise.”

He obeyed, and her grin grew wider. She strode over to him, her mouth full of rum, pistol still aimed at him, and set the muzzle on his naked chest, right over the heart. She laid the index finger of the free hand on his mouth, indicating to open it up, and as he did, she let the rum trickle down from her mouth into his, careful first, but when she noticed he was a good boy, swallowing eagerly, she spat the rest at once and followed up with a deep kiss.

Ignis closed his eyes, feeling parts of him awaken that he had considered rather useless and disruptive for his duty in the recent years, and as she straddled him, the heat from his ears quickly made its way between his legs.

The fabric of her clothes rubbed tantalizing against his cock, and as she rocked her hips, grinding against him, his mind went to rather target-oriented thoughts. Forgotten the pistol that now rested below his jawbone, not forgotten her heat, her tongue, her fast breathing when she came up for air between kisses. Her free hand was in his hair, pulling back his head so she could kiss his neck without him getting in the way... and she suddenly froze.

He heard a little “Shit” close to his ear.

“Wha...what?”

“Oh, pray, do not let me disturb you.” The voice like molasses behind the desk. “There is much to do, and surely my humble cabin has enough space for both my guest and my first officer, especially since you only take up one chair.”

Aranea turned enough to look at Izunia sitting in his own his big chair, a quill in one hand, in the other an empty bottle that had toppled over.

“Captain? How long have you been here?”

“I daresay... one and a half glasses of wine? You seemed quite busy interrogating the young man. Any success yet?” He smirked the tiniest bit.

“A name, Sir. Sinon Vastro, Sir.”

“Well, Mister Vastro, I have to admit I never heard of you. And you did not tell anything to my treasured Arry that would spare you from further talks with me?”

“We were just coming to that.” Ignis sounded very sober now, internally praying that Aranea would keep her silence about his suggestions.

“So please, Miss Arry, do go on! I'm not here at all!”

She sighed and got up, mercifully placing herself between the naked man and Izunia.

“We talked about this, Sir. I _can't_ work like that.”

“Ah, ever the shy blossom. I'll have him sent to your quarters when I'm finished with him. If you'd be so kind now to get him dressed and tied up again?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the hedgehog for helping me out with Iggy-banter. He's astoundingly hard to write, and I still don't know why.


End file.
